


Wolf

by thisgirlsays22



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Familiar!Geralt, M/M, Magic, Romance, Smut, Witch!Jaskier, Wolf!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/pseuds/thisgirlsays22
Summary: The wolf drew closer, and Jaskier realized it carried a lute between its teeth. Sleek, polished wood, white strings, dark swirling patterns around the rosette. Gently, the wolf laid the lute in front of Jaskier and nudged it towards him with its shiny black nose.He stared wide-eyed at the wolf. The shock made him forget to be grateful, and instead, he blurted out, “Why?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 143
Kudos: 2278
Collections: Dandelion





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerofthewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerofthewolf/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399866) by [placid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/placid/pseuds/placid)



> @flowerofthewolf, thank you so much for this prompt and for being so kind and lovely and supportive! I hope you enjoy the story <3

At least the bandits hadn’t kicked his face in. 

Jaskier had seen the damage that could be done to one’s face during a nasty beating, all the teeth that could be knocked out, the black eyes, the broken noses that healed in crooked jags. He reminded himself that it could be worse as he wept by the lake. 

On any other night, he would have pulled out his lute, but tonight he had nothing. No lute, no money, no food. 

It had been years since he’d felt despair like this. Losing his first love at the tender age of fifteen was the closest he’d come to this pain, the sensation of not knowing where to go, of having lost his sense of purpose. 

When the tears stopped, he lifted his head from his hands and stared out at the water with blurred eyes. He did the only thing that might bring him a modicum of comfort: he sang. 

Halfway through his song, he sensed he was no longer alone. In the quiet, he heard a twig snap. Pinpricks traveled the length of his spine as he turned. 

Two amber eyes burned at him in the distance. A giant white wolf was steadily making its way towards him, carrying something between its teeth that Jaskier couldn’t make out. 

Jaskier had never seen a wolf this close before, but he could tell this one was twice the size of a normal one. Even bigger than a warg. 

_Don’t run. Please._ The thought entered Jaskier’s mind, but it didn’t belong to him. _I won’t hurt you_. 

Under any other circumstance, he’d think, _of course the wolf would tell me it meant no harm before it tore my throat out,_ but he trusted the wolf. Much as he heard the words in his mind, he could feel the intention. Warm, kind. 

The wolf drew closer, and Jaskier realized it carried a lute between its teeth. Sleek, polished wood, white strings, dark swirling patterns around the rosette. Gently, the wolf laid the lute in front of Jaskier and nudged it towards him with its shiny black nose. 

He stared wide-eyed at the wolf. The shock made him forget to be grateful, and instead, he blurted out, “Why?” 

Without answering, the wolf turned and darted off, disappearing into the dense, dark forest. Jaskier was left stunned in the beast’s wake. He realized then that the presence of the wolf had comforted him, made him temporarily forget the pain in his beaten body, the loneliness in his heart. He hoped it would return so he could properly thank it for the lute. 

Jaskier watched a lone swan circle the lake and wished it could speak and bear witness to the odd turn of events this night had taken. If not for the lute, real and warm and heavy in his hands, he’d have thought he imagined the gift. A rush of relief coursed through him; thank Gods he’d still be able to earn his coin.

The branches of the trees stretched their leafy fingers into the dark sky and swayed in the cool spring breeze. It smelled faintly of pine needles and the damp, earthy bank in front of the lake. Anticipation of the wolf’s return kept him from relaxing. He set about gathering kindling for a fire. 

Thirty minutes later the wolf returned. As it bounded towards him, Jaskier could once again see the shape of something in its jaw. Droplets of--was that blood? Not another lute, then. 

The wolf dropped a dead hare at Jaskier’s feet and looked up expectantly. Its white coat looked silver in the moonlight. Despite the sheer hulking size of it, Jaskier felt oddly calm in its presence. Protected, even. 

_Eat,_ the wolf said. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered. There was no practical reason to speak in a hush, but he couldn’t help doing so. Something passed in an unseen current between himself and the great white wolf. 

Jaskier pulled a knife from his boot--fat load of good it had done him in the fight--and set to preparing his food. He was no expert in the matter of hunting, but he’d picked up a trick here or there. To his surprise, the wolf sent guiding thoughts to him. Images forming instructions in his mind’s eye.

“How do you know all that?” Jaskier asked. 

_I’m a spirit_ , the wolf replied. _We have knowledge of this world._

“I don’t know all that much about magic or spirits,” Jaskier said apologetically. 

_You don’t say,_ the wolf said, sounding a little amused. 

Jaskier cooked the meat over the fire, the smell making his stomach growl. He handed a raw leg to the wolf who made an appreciative noise and dug in, teeth gleaming bright and sharp. Jaskier marveled at how unafraid he was, wondering if he was a fool. If something far worse than bandits was to befall him this evening. 

But they finished eating without incident, and Jaskier’s eyes wandered to the lute that sat between himself and the wolf. 

_You can play it,_ the wolf told him. _It's yours now._

Jaskier strummed at the lute and a tingling ripple went through his body when he began to sing. A sensation like that had only come to him once or twice before when he was very young, during one of the first and only lessons about magic his mother had given him. 

The tingle didn’t last long but as Jaskier played, the pain in his limbs, the beaten skin blossoming into bruises, faded away into the background along with the sounds of crickets, hooting owls, and the splash of the swan spreading its wings in the lake. 

The wolf watched and listened, lying flat on its belly, head resting on the ground. 

“Do you have a name?” Jaskier asked after he’d played through a few songs. He wondered if it was impolite to ask, or impolite that he hadn’t already done so. 

_Geralt._

“Geralt.” A smile broke out on his face as he gazed upon the wolf. “I'm Jaskier. It's nice to make your acquaintance.” 

Two weeks later, Geralt appeared to him again on the road. It was a dazzlingly bright, warm day, and though his body was still sore, cut-up and bruised, a joyful air surrounded him. White poppies dotted the wide, well-worn path to the city. The air was laced with the scent of newly sprung flowers and possibility. 

_Could you feel the magic when you sang last night?_ Geralt asked. 

“It was a rather good performance, wasn’t it?” Jaskier winked. “Wait, were you listening in, all spirit-like? Did you notice how half the audience nearly _wept_ with laughter? I wasn’t planning an entirely humorous set until I realized how much they were loving it.” It had been a bit strange, but he’d been rather delighted by it too. 

Geralt made an agitated sound, a whine at the back of his throat. _The lute should have helped you access your magic._

“Now that you mention it…” There had been something different when he’d played last night. That tingle had been there again, but he’d chalked it up to the thrill of performing. “Is the lute magical?” 

_It’s a conduit. You’ve never been trained, but your song, your music, is where your magic lives._

“Oh. That’s amazing!" Jaskier couldn't quite believe it. He'd long since given up hope that he'd ever be able to use magic. "Will I always need the lute to control it?” 

_No. Not if you keep practicing._

Jaskier had planned to reach an inn by nightfall, but he didn’t want to say goodbye to Geralt. Instead, he made camp. This area wasn’t known to be dangerous, but even if it had been, he felt safe in Geralt’s presence. 

As they sat around the fire, he sang silly little things to silly little melodies -- 

“ _When I was down on my luck /_

_The only word I could think was ‘fuck’ /_

_A beautiful wolf did appear /_

_And hand me a lute so dear”_ \--

Just so he could feel that tingle of magic again. With Geralt’s quiet guidance, he learned to lift pebbles and small branches from the ground. They hovered midair for only a few seconds, but it felt wonderful. 

As he practiced his magic, spirits began appearing to him in his dreams. They told him tales that he spun into songs, weaving their words into a beautiful tapestry. In return, he passed messages along to the loved ones they’d left behind. 

After a month of performing in Novigrad and delivering the deceased’s messages, he accepted an invitation from a witch called Yennefer to meet her coven. 

_You should go,_ Geralt advised. _Triss and Ciri are kind._

“And Yennefer?” 

_Yennefer is a powerful and talented witch._

Jaskier noticed he did not say anything about kindness. 

A few nights later, he went to meet with the coven. Their windowless workroom was thick with the smell of smoky incense and a fainter smell of the tea Ciri poured from a silver samovar. Jars full of items ranging from flowers to monster’s eyes lined the shelves. 

“You control your magic through song?” Ciri asked, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed in fascination at Jaskier. “What do you sing?” 

“I mostly sing nonsense when I’m trying to channel my magic,” Jaskier said, and then added, “but it’s heartfelt nonsense.” 

“The spirits are particularly drawn to your brand of magic,” Yennefer drawled. An air of mild hostility had surrounded her since Jaskier had explained he was not part of a coven. “They have strange taste.” 

“You’ll have to excuse her. She scorns witches with no formal training.” Triss said, shooting Yennefer a disapproving look. Jaskier wondered if Triss had been the one to really invite him. 

Yennefer studied her fingernails. “I also have better taste in music.” 

“Well, I like your music. I snuck in through the back of the tavern and listened to you play.” Ciri smiled at him. Perhaps the invitation had come from her? “Where did you get your lute? Is it a conduit for your magic? It gives off a certain...aura.” 

“Yes!” Jaskier said eagerly. “A white wolf gave it to me. But no ordinary wolf--it speaks to me. Sort of. It’s more of a ‘mind-melody’ kind of speaking. It’s the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen. He told me he was a spirit, actually.” 

“You’re describing a familiar,” Yennefer said impatiently. 

“A what?” 

Yennefer made an aggravated sound and threw up her hands. “Why would a familiar appear to someone as daft as you? It’s beyond comprehension. Witches who train for years and years are unable to summon a familiar, and yet you apparently have managed to do so.” 

“Perhaps because I’m deeply talented and greatness recognizes other greatness.” 

“I don’t understand how it is possible to wield magic and yet know so little about it,” Yennefer said through gritted teeth. 

“My mother tried to teach me when I was young, but she died before I could control my magic or channel it.” Jaskier began to explain how he’d then gone to live with his aunt after, how she’d forbidden any magical practice in her home. Religious fanatics, and all that. 

Triss tutted sympathetically. “That’s a pity.” 

“Yes. I’d given up hope or expectation of ever possessing any mastery over my magic until the wolf appeared.” 

“So how did you summon your familiar, then?” Ciri asked. 

Jaskier hesitated. “I got robbed of everything I owned and wept by a lake.” 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Yennefer muttered. 

“Can I ask you two questions?” 

On this rare occasion, Geralt had appeared in Jaskier’s room at an inn. Normally, they were too small to fit a wolf Geralt's size comfortably, and besides, Jaskier knew he preferred the outdoors. 

He also knew Geralt well enough to sense that, if he were human, he’d have let out a sigh. _I suppose._

“Are you my familiar?” asked Jaskier. 

_If you want me to be._

“But why me?” Jaskier shook his head. “I didn't do anything worthy of your attention.” 

After a long while, Geralt said, _Your music. There’s always been magic in your music. I rarely like to concern myself with matters of the human realm, but when you were in pain, I couldn’t stay away._

The words made Jaskier’s throat tighten. “I was alone before you came along.” For once he didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t know why he’d said that or what he was trying to tell Geralt, only that it felt important. 

He took people to bed and sometimes he even loved them, but he’d been alone before he’d met Geralt, really. Even when Geralt wasn’t with him, he was always _with_ him, and Jaskier said, “Of course I want you as my familiar.” 

Jaskier reached out a careful hand and stroked Geralt’s soft fur, something he often longed to do but resisted, assuming it wouldn’t be welcome. Geralt tilted his head and leaned into the touch. 

That night Jaskier slept with his head on Geralt’s chest. 

Tonight Jaskier played his favorite ballad. A tale of star-crossed lovers whose families forbid their love. The girl, of noble birth, was to marry a baron while the boy was to continue working his family’s fields. The song took place on the night of their farewell. 

_Since the conjunction of spheres /_

_My soul has wanted you near /_

_Tonight though we must part ways /_

_I’ll think of you until the end of my days_

When Jaskier felt the longing in those words, the tingling sensation was no longer a mere ripple, but a constant hum buzzing through him. It remained for the duration of each and every song he played. He felt there was something he needed to be _doing,_ something bubbling under his skin. Like restless energy when you were trapped in the house on a rainy day. 

The audience wiped tears from their eyes, applauded wildly, and placed coin after coin on the stage beside him. 

Absentmindedly, he touched a finger to his throat. 

Suspicion crept over him. He could no longer dismiss his audiences’ strangely powerful reactions. 

The next time Geralt appeared, Jaskier swallowed his pride and fears and asked, “Is the lute the reason the audience responds so strongly to my music? A woman wept again last night, and really the song wasn’t quite deserving of such a reaction. I was appreciative, of course, and maybe she was having a difficult day, but…” 

_It’s possible, yes._

“Oh.” 

_What’s wrong?_

“It feels a bit like cheating. Music is my calling, and I want to make people feel things because of my words, my voice, my melodies. I don’t want magic to give me an unfair advantage.” 

_Hm._

Worried he sounded ungrateful, Jaskier hurried on, “That’s not to say I don’t appreciate your gift. I’ve always wished I could have learned to channel magic. It feels like a part of myself that’s still connected to my mother, so of course, I still want to play with the lute on my own. Just perhaps not with an audience.” 

The wolf tilted its head slightly at Jaskier and looked thoughtful. _I think I understand,_ he said. 

Relieved, Jaskier thanked him. 

_I can get you another lute,_ Geralt said. _One that isn’t magic._

“I can just buy another lute,” Jaskier protested. 

_I’m here to serve you_. 

“I don’t want that,” Jaskier said. “I think of you as my partner and my muse. My friend.”

The wolf said nothing. 

The next day Geralt brought him a new lute, one he assured Jaskier was not a conduit. 

Jaskier wanted to do kind things for Geralt, too. He started saving pieces of meat and then sweets after he learned spirits enjoyed them. 

_You don’t need to give me gifts,_ Geralt said time and time again until finally, he realized Jaskier wouldn’t take that to heart, and then instead of protesting he’d sometimes rest his head on Jaskier’s lap or his knee when they sat out under the stars. 

As the first snow began to fall, a man with long white hair, dressed in black walked into the tavern. He shook flakes of snow from his hair, and he trekked in wet prints with his heavy boots. Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off him as he bought a tankard of ale and settled himself in a dark corner at the back of the tavern. 

After his performance--which Jaskier had thought was particularly good, especially since he’d not relied on a single touch of magic--Jaskier sauntered over to the man at the back. It would be nice to have someone so handsome warm his cold bed that night. 

“Do you always brood like this after seeing a phenomenal performance? So overcome with emotion that you have to sequester yourself in the corner of a pub, contemplating the pure poetry that has befallen your ears.” 

The man looked up at him with two golden eyes. Jaskier startled.

“Jaskier,” the man said, a low rumble in his throat. 

“Geralt?” 

The man nodded once, his mouth a tight line. 

Jaskier licked his lips nervously. “Not to jump to any strange conclusions here, but would you happen to be the same Geralt that appears to me as a massive, terrifying and beautiful white wolf?” 

There was something off in Geralt’s expression like he expected a blow to come or for Jaskier to be angry. “Yes. The same.” 

“How is this possible?" He gestured at all of Geralt. "How can you appear as a man?” 

“Familiars can take on the form of a human if they so wish. They usually don’t.” 

“Why?” 

Geralt frowned down at his body as though it were an ill-fitting tunic. “It feels strange to wear human skin.” 

“There are worse bodies you could be stuck in,” Jaskier said admiringly, not quite flirting, but brushing up against it. 

“Hm,” Geralt said, and took a sip from his glass. 

Jaskier eyed the goblet. “You can drink?” 

“Spirits love spirits,” Geralt said with a slight smirk. 

“Oh, I do like you as a human.” Jaskier grinned and sat down in front of him. “Have you ever taken a human form before?” 

“A few times. It can be easier to help people that way.” 

Geralt’s voice still managed to sound like the one Jaskier heard in his head when the wolf spoke to him. A low rumble that made heat curl through Jaskier, that made him desperate to keep Geralt talking. 

“You mean people don’t always respond well to a giant wolf appearing out of nowhere?” 

The corner of Geralt’s lip quirked up. “No.” 

As they talked into the night, Jaskier had to keep reminding himself he was still talking to the same Geralt and not a handsome stranger he was trying to bed. Geralt, his friend, his companion, his _familiar._ Though familiar he did not seem right now. It was still difficult to drag answers about the spirit realm or Geralt’s rare past dealings with humans, but Jaskier could have sworn it was a little easier to elicit stories. 

“Will you still appear to me as a wolf?” Jaskier asked. “Or should I get used to this new state of affairs?”

“A wolf,” Geralt replied.

But over the next few months, Jaskier would still find Geralt the man sitting at the back of taverns and even one party in a Lord’s courtyard, watching Jaskier play. Waiting for him after the show. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to ConstantCacoethes for betaing (and to my husband as well, but I don't think he'll see this thank you!)
> 
> Kudos and comments are so loved and appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/aerbear22) | [Tumblr](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram ](https://www.instagram.com/thisgirlsays22/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [ConstantCacoethes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCacoethes/works) and [Angelzoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades_0f_cool/pseuds/angelzoo) for beating!

The nights were full of music, laughter, and Geralt teaching Jaskier how to wield his magic. Months passed in a beautiful, happy blur. 

Jaskier stopped sleeping around so much, stopped thinking of anyone but Geralt. Started thinking Geralt sat closer than he needed to, that he almost never left Jaskier’s side. More often than not he was coming to Jaskier as a human and not a wolf. When their hands brushed something electric passed between them. 

So Jaskier tried to kiss Geralt one night after a show. 

Magic and music hummed through Jaskier’s veins. He and Geralt jostled against one another, elbows knocking as they stumbled tipsily out of the tavern, spilling out into the back alley. The night air was balmy and inviting. Jaskier could still hear people inside the tavern, laughing and shouting. 

The otherworldly, supernatural veil seemed to have been pulled away from Geralt; he seemed so  _ human _ . So reachable. So touchable. The high from performing, the magic, and the alcohol swirled together; Jaskier reached for Geralt, touched him, and he swore Geralt’s eyes were full of desire -- until the moment he jerked back. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier apologized, trying to hide his hurt and embarrassment. He was not often rejected, but when he was he tried to handle it with grace. “I thought--” 

“It’s my fault,” Geralt interrupted. He’d gone pale. “I should have known that taking a human form like this...it would be too risky.” 

“Risky,” Jaskier echoed. His brows knit together. “Why  _ did _ you start coming to me as a human if it was...risky? You told me it felt strange.” 

Geralt looked away. 

“ _ Geralt. _ ” 

“I wanted to be near you. To understand what it felt like to be human, like you.” 

Jaskier’s hands fisted the front of Geralt’s shirt, yanking him forward. Jaskier’s back hit the wall of the alley, and Geralt’s hands landed on either side of his head. 

“There’s something between us, isn’t there?” Jaskier said. “What I don’t understand is why you won’t admit it, Geralt. If it’s just me, and I’m crazy...you can  _ tell  _ me.” 

Crowded against the wall, caged in by Geralt’s powerful frame, Jaskier was weak and wanting. This close, he could see the fine hairs, the tendons flexing Geralt’s arms where they bracketed Jaskier’s face, hands pressed against the wall. 

Jaskier’s cheeks were hot and flushed. His body ignited into flame, cock hardening in his trousers at the way Geralt was looking at him. 

Geralt’s mouth was close, warm breath brushing against Jaskier’s lips, and he was rooted in place by more than Geralt’s body. Desire kept him there, unmoving. Amber eyes burned the same desire back, two violent, captivating mirrors. When they shut, Jaskier felt robbed. 

Geralt took in a long deep breath. As he exhaled, his eyes opened. 

“Goodbye, Jaskier,” he whispered against Jaskier’s lips. And then he pushed off the wall and away, disappearing around the corner of the alley and into the night. 

“Goodbye? Geralt wait--what the hell?” Jaskier called after him, but Geralt was already gone. 

Jaskier stayed with his back flat against the bricks like he was pinned there, trying to catch his breath. 

It was the last time he saw Geralt. Months passed. Jaskier looked for him in every town and every crowd. The pain of his absence never lessened. Disappointment crushed Jaskier each time he searched and failed to find him. 

He sang new songs out on the road. Mostly about Geralt and the ache in Jaskier’s chest that couldn’t be chased away. He wondered if Geralt was watching, could hear him. If he was, it didn’t bring him back. He missed the man and he missed his wolf. His familiar, his friend. 

After a few lonely months on the road, Jaskier agreed to help the coven in Novigrad when a raven found him in a nearby town and handed over a formal request from Yennefer. 

“There’s a ritual for the dead. It happens once every five years, and there’s high demand in a city this large,” Yennefer wrote. "An extra pair of hands, even such as yours, would help lift the veil between realms.” Jaskier could hear the wry tone as he read the letter in her voice. 

He was flattered that despite her disdain and his lack of formal training or ties to any coven, she’d heard enough of his deeds and his magic that she’d deign to reach out to him. 

For roughly a month, he practiced honing his magic along with Yennefer, Triss, Cirilla and a few other less experienced witches. Before, spirits had come to him in dreams, but now he learned that there were ways to make the veil between the spirit and human realm visible, to create a doorway for a spirit to come through. 

He’d thought Yennefer might have sent him packing when she’d learned that his familiar would not be joining them. “No matter,” she’d said, waving a hand. “We can still put you to good use.” It warmed something in his heart, and he found himself wondering if maybe one day she’d consider having him as a member of her coven. Ciri and Triss liked him well enough. 

Jaskier reviewed protection spells and ones for trapping spirits. Thanks to Geralt, he knew the basics. The reminder made him flinch, reopened the wound he’d been trying to forget.

“You are to stay close to Cirilla’s side,” Yennefer instructed, the night before the ritual. “She’ll make sure any violent spirits can’t get close enough to cause you harm while you--” she waved her hand “--do whatever it is you do that manages to pass for magic and help draw the spirits out.” 

“I hadn’t been aware that this could be dangerous,” Jaskier said, beginning to wonder if this had been a good idea after all. 

Yennefer shrugged. “You’ll have protection. Only a few violent spirits have gotten through in the past when they shouldn’t have.” 

Cirilla proudly showed Jaskier her sword. “It’s a bit like your lute--a conduit for my magic,” she said, and Jaskier felt comforted she would be fighting alongside him. Triss and Yennefer both seemed completely confident in her abilities. 

The day of the ritual was overcast, the sky full of dark clouds. They got to the amphitheater late in the afternoon to set up, placing black lanterns in the center circle and throughout the seats. In the middle of the theater, they hauled a black cauldron and carefully laid out jars full of bats wings, wolf liver, the soft petals of four different kinds of rare and beautiful flowers. 

When night fell, people began to arrive and fill the stone seats. The audience was hushed, but there were crackles of excitement running through the crowd, heard in the cadence of their whispers, seen in their hopeful eyes as they waited to speak to their beloved dead. With them, they’d brought totems that had belonged to the spirits in life. The more important the object had been to the deceased, the more likely it was to draw the spirit back. 

Wearing a dress made of sheer black lace, Yennefer led the ceremonies, standing at the center point of the theater. A thin curtain of pale-green light became visible as she lifted her hands and began her spell. 

Out of the light stepped spirit after spirit, seeking their loved ones. There would only be an hour until the spell was lifted and the veil closed again. For the first thirty-odd minutes, it was peaceful. Jaskier watched the reunions around him with a mix of joy and melancholy. Perhaps he should try to perform a ceremony like this where he’d lain his parents to rest. 

He was broken out of his thoughts when a scream rang out from somewhere behind him, followed quickly by another in the opposite direction. 

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked Ciri. 

“I don’t know,” she said, craning her neck to look through the throng of people. Her eyes went wide. “Oh gods.” 

Jaskier followed where she was looking in time to see Triss throw up a shield as a specter leaped at her, its face contorted in rage. It shrieked and lunged at her again, backing her against the wall. Her bolts of light struck it back only for another to appear in its place. 

More screams pierced the air. Chaos had broken out as panic and fear overtook reason. People were knocked to the ground as they tried to flee, trampled by frantic feet. The smell of blood filled the air, and Jaskier did his best to keep his wits about him as the dead attacked witches and bystanders without distinction. 

“Ciri, what the hell is happening? I thought Yennefer said only one or two vengeful spirits had gotten through in the past.” To his horror, he couldn’t see Yennefer anywhere around them. 

“I don’t know,” Ciri said, slashing her sword through one of the specters. She swung around and struck another. “I’ve never seen this happen before. Stay near me, let’s get to Triss.” 

Howling spirits blocked their way forward, more appearing every time Ciri had dealt with one. It seemed as though each and every one of them had gone into a frenzy, even the ones that had been docile to start. 

“They’re still coming through the veil!” Jaskier shouted to Ciri. “Can we close it?” 

“Not just the two of us,” Ciri said, her sword still flying through the air. “Can you try to trap some of them for me?” 

He took a deep breath. He’d practiced this. With Geralt first and then with Yennefer and the other witches. Jaskier sang, channeling his magic into bright spheres of light to keep them bound to one place. He stayed near Ciri, or as close as he could when she was not a blurred whirlwind of motion. His spells were a tiny drop of water in an empty well. 

As the numbers began to overwhelm them, he lost sight of Ciri. 

He called out for her, his voice frantic. She called his name back, but he couldn’t see her. Around him, the screams of the dead were indistinguishable from the screams of the living. 

The hideous, rotting face that once belonged to a man came into view, breathing a putrid stench onto Jaskier. An icy hand gripped Jaskier’s throat. He let out a strangled gasp as the fingers tightened, choking for air. His hands and body struggled uselessly against the specter’s painful grip. Darkness crept into the edges of his eyes. 

This is how he would die. 

He closed his eyes and thought of amber eyes, the white wolf, the magic lute at his feet, Geralt in the audience, Geralt saying goodbye, how it might have felt to kiss him. 

A bright light broke through the visions. Death, he thought, but the pressure dropped from his throat and he fell to the ground. A shriek pierced the air, and Jaskier saw the specter lashing out at a huge white wolf who growled, head bent forward as it prepared to attack again. 

But it was Ciri who appeared out of thin air to slice into the spirit, to make it dissolve into rotten ash before she sent a pained look of apology to Jaskier, nodded at the wolf, and returned to the fray.

_ Geralt Geralt Geralt,  _ Jaskier thought in a blur. He wanted to go to him--to hold him, to scream at him, to thank him--but there was no time now. Geralt was still fighting off more of the spirits. 

Bruises were already forming on Jaskier’s throat, but he managed to sing again, to join the rest of the witches. They weren’t the only ones fighting anymore. There were other animals like Geralt, other familiars, who had joined them too. 

One by one, the spirits dissipated into piles of glowing ash. While the other familiars followed Geralt into battle, the witches gathered at the center of the amphitheater. Yennefer, bloodied and furious, appeared. 

“We need to close the veil,  _ now _ ,” she said. 

“What happened?” Jaskier asked. 

“I don’t know,” Yennefer said. “But I’m going to fucking find out when this is over.” 

Deep into the night, Jaskier arrived back in his room at the inn. He’d stayed after to tend to the wounds of the injured and to help bury the few who had died. It pained him that anyone had been killed during the ceremony, but he was grateful there hadn’t been more casualties. 

Jaskier’s heart ached with fresh loss; he’d searched for Geralt, but he’d disappeared along with the other spirits who’d come to their aid. 

He took the potion Triss had provided for his wounds and drew himself a bath. When he sank into the steaming water he was utterly depleted. He scrubbed at his face and body until the skin was red. 

He shut his eyes for a while and when he opened them Geralt was standing before him. Jaskier bolted upright, water splashing around him. “Gods, Geralt. Warn a man first!” 

“Fuck,” Geralt said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry.”

Geralt didn’t look like a man who’d been involved in a fight earlier. He was dressed in his usual black attire, long hair tied back neatly. There was not a scratch to be found on him. Jaskier’s relief momentarily kept his irritation at bay, but then it returned two-fold. 

“You came back. Again. Left, came back, left again.” Jaskier turned away, trying to hide the raw hurt on his face. “A man starts to lose track.” 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Geralt said, voice low. 

Jaskier sighed and sank deeper into the water. If Geralt wasn’t going to give him answers, he would rather look at the ceiling than at him. “Yennefer thinks someone in the audience used black magic to turn the spirits. Do you know if she’s right?” 

“Yes. That’s why I came.” A shadow fell over Jaskier as Geralt moved closer. “I knew you were in danger.” 

“But why did you leave in the first place? And why bother coming here now?” 

“I can’t stay away,” Geralt said hoarsely. The low pitch of his voice, the growl that always seemed to lurk in his words, sent something dark and hot down Jaskier’s spine. Geralt sat down next to the tub so they were eye-level. 

Jaskier couldn’t help himself. He slid his hand up to cup Geralt’s cheek, shocked when Geralt leaned into the touch, almost  _ nuzzling  _ Jaskier’s wet hand. A sound like a whimper escaped his lips, so soft Jaskier would have missed it if they weren’t so close. 

“I missed you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt made that sound again, like he was in pain. He didn’t know if he needed answers tonight so long as Geralt didn’t leave again. Touching him like this was enough for now. 

“Can I take care of you?” Geralt asked, pulling back so he could look at Jaskier.

“I don’t see another lute in your hands.” 

Geralt snorted then reached for one of the oils resting on the low cabinet by the tub. The smell of chamomile filled the air as nimble fingers began massaging Jaskier’s scalp. 

“I was afraid,” Geralt said. The words were warm against Jaskier’s ear. He shivered. 

“Why?” 

There was a moment where Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath against his neck, a hesitation, and then tender kisses were placed down the column of his throat. So sweet they made him shiver, made his cock stand at attention. 

“You don’t seem afraid anymore,” Jaskier said, his voice sounding ragged to his own ears. Now he was the one who was afraid. 

A growl at the back of Geralt’s throat was his only reply. He turned Jaskier’s head and kissed him fiercely. His tongue slipped into Jaskier’s mouth, hungry and demanding. Jaskier was just as hungry. 

The bedsheets were soaking wet. Geralt had pulled Jaskier from the tub and dragged him to the bed without bothering with a towel. It was deeply unfair that Jaskier was the only naked one, so he reached for Geralt’s tunic and yanked it over his head and threw it off the side of the bed with more force than necessary. Then he slid Geralt’s trousers down -- no underclothes underneath, and his mouth went dry at the sight. 

“You are--Melitele’s tits you are hung,” Jaskier said. “I never thought I’d be asking this question, but how in fuck’s name is that going to fit?” 

“You could just fuck me,” Geralt offered.

“No,” Jaskier hissed, very much wanting to find out how they would make that cock fit. Geralt got Jaskier on his hands and knees and went to work, licking Jaskier open between his two scissoring fingers until finally, he eased himself inside inch by inch by inch. 

Patience wearing thin, so hard he wanted to sob, Jaskier groaned and pushed back. It only made Geralt grip his hips so he couldn’t move. They fucked like that for a while, Jaskier face down, ass in the air, Geralt’s huge hands holding his thighs up. 

That would have been just fine with Jaskier, to be filled like this and to only have to turn his head to see the pleasure contorting Geralt’s face. But Geralt rolled him over and fucked into him again, nearly bending Jaskier in half. He was stretched all around Geralt’s massive girth, so perfectly full. 

All those nights alone and now finally he had Geralt back. Jaskier clutched him tightly, and when Geralt murmured _Jaskier_ with so much love and reverence in his voice, it undid Jaskier. He came with a broken cry, and Geralt kept whispering his name, stroking his hands through Jaskier’s hair until he came too. 

“You can’t leave me again,” Jaskier said, after. 

Geralt looked at him with surprise. “How could you think I would now?” 

“You left before. I’m a romantic, Geralt, but not so foolish to think that sex is the one thing that’ll keep someone where they don’t want to be.” 

Geralt grabbed both his wrists and made Jaskier look him in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll have me, I’m here to stay.” 

“Yes, you utter fool. Of course, I’ll have you.” 

Jaskier sought Yennefer the next night, finding her in her workshop, sprinkling powder into the black cauldron. Ciri was watching her intently, sat on a wooden stool nearby and taking notes in a tiny book. 

“Hello, Jaskier,” Yennefer said without turning. 

Ciri looked up and leaped off the stool, coming to clutch his hands between hers. “Jaskier! Are you alright?” 

“Yes, thank you. Triss’ potion did the trick.” 

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there,” her voice went thick with emotion, eyes shiny. “So much was happening and when I looked over it was choking you and--” 

“Please don’t worry, sweet Cirilla,” Jaskier cut in gently. “I’m fine. Where is Triss? Is she recovering?” 

“Yes, she’s fine. Exhausted, but fine. She’s upstairs resting now,” Ciri answered. “Yennefer is teaching me the recipe for a truth serum.” 

“There are a few suspects that will need interviewing,” Yennefer said. “I know just the trick to get them talking.” 

Jaskier swallowed. “Gods help anyone you’ve got your sights set on,” he said. 

“Ha.” Yennefer flashed a brief smile. “I saw a white wolf that matched your familiar’s description fighting the specters. Was he the one who brought the other spirits who helped us?” 

Jaskier nodded and couldn’t stop a dreamy smile from spreading across his face. “He returned to me."

Yennefer put her ingredients down, studied him and sighed. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into?” 

“No trouble. I’ve fallen in love with him and he with me.” 

Ciri’s eyes went wide, but Yennefer only groaned. “Idiot.” 

Jaskier frowned. “Why am I an idiot?” 

“Did you fuck him?” She arched an eyebrow, looking like she already knew the answer.

“Yennefer!” Jaskier looked from Yennefer to Ciri. 

“Ciri has heard worse.” 

“I have,” Ciri agreed. 

He hesitated briefly and then nodded, knowing that his answer was something to be ashamed of. 

“Oh wow,” Ciri said as Yennefer scoffed. 

“Hope you were worth the lay,” Yennefer said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means he’s going to be severely punished for getting into your trousers. For whatever reason, he really must love you.” 

Jaskier’s heart raced. It felt as though he’d been suddenly slapped in the face. “Punished?” 

“Well, yes. There are consequences for familiars who fall in love with their witches.” 

“But what about me? Don’t I need to be punished too?” Jaskier clasped his hands together. “I throw myself at your mercy!”

“You are an utter numbskull,” Yennefer said. “You’re not in my coven. I’ve nothing to do with punishing you. I would have kicked you out for fucking him, but he’s the one who had to give up his magic to stay in the human realm.” 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Jaskier balled his hands into useless fists. “I had no idea--he didn’t say. It’s not fair. Why should he have to give up anything just because he slept with me?” 

“Familiars serve and guide their witches. They’re not meant to taint that connection with sex or romantic love. And it would be a deeply unbalanced relationship. Witches aren’t to take advantage that way.” 

Feeling weak in the knees, Jaskier dropped down on the stool beside Ciri who was staring at him with a mix of shock and concern. She reached for his arm and kept a comforting hand there as Yennefer spoke again. 

“You thought you could live outside the rules of magic, turn your nose up at training and covens and never know a damn thing about the way it all works. About how the rest of us live. Now you understand that there’s often a price, though you might not be the one paying it this time.” 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Jaskier demanded, slamming the door of the inn behind him. Geralt was standing in front of the small table in the corner of the room, he’d been setting out bits of fruit and bread and cheese. A carafe of wine sat in the center of the table between two goblets. 

Geralt stopped what he was doing. “Tell you what?” 

“What it cost you!”

For a moment, Geralt considered this. “Not if I could help it.” 

Jaskier gaped at him in disbelief. “Geralt, you’ve given up...you’ve given up your home for me.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“Can you still--can you still become a wolf at least?” He thought of the power of Geralt’s form, the grace with which he moved. That Geralt had once told him,  _ I had never walked in the human realm before. But I had seen the way wolves roamed and hunted and played and ran and I knew it was the form I was meant to take.  _

“No,” Geralt said slowly as if Jaskier were a fool and Geralt was trying hard to be patient. “I gave that up when I took you to bed. I gave up all ties to my magic and to the spirit realm.” 

Geralt’s voice was matter-of-fact, and he was stone-faced, but Jaskier couldn’t fathom what he was giving up. How much Geralt loved to take his wolf form. “I would have never let you if I’d known what it would cost you. I asked you if you could--you didn’t say.” 

“There was no other choice I would make. No other choice I could.” 

“I didn’t know you’d already made that choice,” Jaskier said, struggling for words. “I just blithely took advantage of you without knowing what it meant.” 

“So what? It wasn’t your decision to make. It was mine.” 

“Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care! I tried to stop how I felt. Tried to leave. You’re the thing I can’t stand to give up. There  _ was no other choice. _ ” 

And somehow then they were kissing and Geralt was inside of him again and Jaskier knew he couldn’t have and wouldn’t have chosen any differently either. There was only Geralt. A choice that led him down any other path was one he would not make. 

“What will you do without your magic?” They were still lying naked together in bed, and Jaskier traced invisible patterns on Geralt’s arm. Without success, Geralt had tried to convince Jaskier that they should have their dinner. Jaskier wasn’t ready to move yet. 

Geralt shrugged. “I hadn’t given that much thought.” 

“I  _ am _ in need of a bodyguard,” Jaskier mused. “With you by my side, I don’t think I have to worry so much about being attacked by bandits.” 

“I’ll have to put my knowledge of swords to good use.” 

“Ah, yes, they can take your magic, but not your knowledge,” Jaskier said. It was the entire spirit realm’s loss. “Fuck ‘em.” 

“Fuck ‘em indeed,” Geralt said. Light from the few candles burning low around the room caressed Geralt’s cheeks. He looked so beautiful, and it knocked the breath out of Jaskier that he’d chosen a mortal life with Jaskier over all else. It was an awful lot to live up to, he realized with a touch of fear. 

He supposed he’d given up his chances of being part of Yennefer’s coven, any coven, but that didn’t seem like a sacrifice even close to the one Geralt had made.

Though he didn’t have to, Jaskier knew then he would stop practicing magic. If Geralt had to give something up, so should he. 

There were many things he still wanted to tell Geralt, that he loved him, that he was afraid Geralt would realize he’d made a mistake, that he wouldn’t touch magic if Geralt no longer could. 

Not tonight, though. There would be time enough for all of those things outside of the peace of this night. 

“I know that I want simple things,” Geralt said. He stood and went to the table and poured wine from the carafe into the two goblets. Jaskier held his breath. “To listen to you sing. To wake up next to you every morning. To build a life together whether it’s on the road or some place else. The rest will come.” 

Geralt handed one of the goblets to Jaskier. Geralt had given him so many gifts: lutes. Magic. Love. Jaskier would spend every day making Geralt’s choice worth his while. 

“The rest will come,” he said and clinked his glass against Geralt’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed <3 Kudos and comments are so loved and appreciated! 
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/aerbear22) | [Tumblr](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/) | [Instagram ](https://www.instagram.com/thisgirlsays22/)
> 
> [Fic link on Tumblr if you fancy sharing <3 ](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/post/614558018879750144/wolf-chapter-22-complete)


End file.
